William King - The Queen's assassin

“What was that?” Asea asked. “I don’t like the smell of this.”

There was an odd scent of corruption in the air, sickly sweet. There was something about it that made his skin tingle and his lips feel numb. “There is devilish sorcery in the air. We’ve come to the right place.”

“A lot of people would think we were in exactly the wrong place,” said Sardec.

“And I would be tempted to agree with them. But if I am right, we have to stop this. Nobody else can. If we don’t, coronation day will be spoiled for a lot of people.”

Jaderac strode around the perimeter of his pentacle. The smell of the mist from the great canisters filled the air. He could sense the corruption in it, and it thrilled him. There was so much power there. Power to raise the dead. Power to make them into an army. Power that would smash the Taloreans before the night was out.

He raised the flask to his lips and drank. The elixir had the curdled consistency of the congealed blood that was one of its components. It had the sweetness of blood. Energy filled him, energy that had been drained from dozens of captives along with their blood. He felt a little disgusted, not by the fact he was imbibing blood but by the fact that it was human blood, and tainted by their weakness. He told himself it all served a greater purpose, and that purpose was winning the coming war for Sardea and seeing that he was installed back into the Queen-Empress’s favour.

He looked at the others with contempt. They were mostly sheep. Lord and Lady Sardontine so desperately trying to keep in with both sides, and finally forced to take his side. They knew the ritual was going ahead, and that by tomorrow Jaderac would be master of the city. They wanted to be on the winning side, and they knew that he would remember them if they betrayed their obligations to the Brotherhood now. All of them looked at the massive hulking figure of the Nerghul with fear. It was even larger than his first one, with monstrous claws and long white fangs showing in its fleshless face. Its eyes glowed darkly. It radiated evil energy.

The nobles and their bodyguards and followers were beneath his contempt. Only Tamara stood out among them. She was different. It was not just that she belonged to one of the oldest and highest families in Sardea. She was confident where they were sly. She was capable, like her father. He still wondered whether she had really chosen to side with him, or whether she was still her father’s agent. Her comings and goings had been even less explicable than usual recently.

Not that it mattered now. Things had come too far for him to fail now. He noticed then that she was looking at him, with a sly smile on her face.

“There are people coming,” she said. Jaderac smiled scornfully. What fools had chosen tonight to wander into the graveyard? Perhaps it was ghouls again.

“It does not matter,” he said confidently. He could see Sardontine and his fellow cultists were getting skittish. They were nervous, and they might run if they got frightened enough. He was not about to let that happen.

“I think it does,” said Tamara. “There are soldiers out there.”

“Have we been betrayed?” Sardontine asked. His voice quavered a little. Jaderac looked at Tamara. “Have we?” he asked.

She stared at the Nerghul. She knew what it was capable of. She had seen its like before. “Not by me,” she said. Her smile was enigmatic and as always he could not read it. He spoke to his undead creation. “Go kill everyone who you do not see here.”

The huge unliving creature growled and moved to obey. Jaderac’s enemies were as good as dead. Nothing that lived could best such an engine of destruction by night. It had cost him greatly to make the creature but now it would prove its worth.

He looked at the cultists. It was time for them to earn their share of the power they coveted. “Take up your positions,” he said. “Ready your censers. We begin.”

He focused his mind, and concentrated on the ritual. Some time passed before he noticed that Tamara had vanished.

Suddenly Sardec heard screaming. Muskets flared in the gloom. There was a sound of bones breaking, men dying. A group of soldiers broke and ran. “Stand firm,” he bellowed. He heard Sergeant Hef shouting the same. Something hideous erupted from the brush in front of him. Before he could react it was on him, and he was caught in a grip that made him feel like a mouse in the jaws of a cat.

Red eyes burned into his. Yellow teeth grinned down out of a lipless smile. He stared into the face of death. He knew he faced a Nerghul, and he doubted he was going to survive this second encounter.

He slashed at the thing’s face with his hook, peeling away part of its cheek, and letting the white of the teeth shine through. He continued to tug but the blade seemed to have caught on bone. The Nerghul lashed out with its free hand. He went flying, heard the sound of bone crunch as his body impacted on a gravestone.

Lightning flashed, dazzlingly close. The smell of ozone filled his nostrils. His hair stood on end. He looked up and saw the charred form of the Nerghul reeling away from Asea. Lightning arced from the wand in her hand, smashing into the creature, keeping it at bay even as it stripped the flesh from its body. It tried to get closer but, for all its ferocious speed, it could not move against the flow of deadly energy. Asea did not let up. She knew that if she did the thing would be on her in a flash. Blue sparks flickered from the side of the Nerghul’s head. The snow sizzled where they landed.

Sardec groaned and picked himself up and checked his limbs. His jacket was torn and blackened. He could smell burning hair. Everything seemed intact until he realised that he had lost his hook. It must have slid free from its mounting and remained buried in the jaw of the Nerghul. It was the metal of it that appeared to draw Asea’s lightning. He could see metal glowing. He thought he understood now how that ever-twisting worm of lightning kept aimed at the undead beast’s head no matter how hard it tried to evade. The metal was attracting the energy to it like a lightning rod drawing a thunderbolt. Sparks kept leaping from Sardec’s hook. He shuddered to think what might have happened if he had remained attached to his artificial limb.

The Nerghul spasmed and fell. The lightning crackled and faded. The Foragers sprang into action hacking the creature with their bayonets. Even crippled as it was, it managed to toss them off, and headed towards the source of its torment, Asea. The Barbarian crashed into it from one side. His blades hacking at the thing’s blackened, smoking flesh. Weasel’s rifle spoke thunder and a truesilver bullet smashed into the thing’s brain.

Karim sprang forward and separated its head from its body with one stroke. Even as he watched the Nerghul began to decompose, as if the unholy energies binding its form together had dissipated and could not longer hold it together. Perhaps the lightning had something to do with it. After a few moments there was only a pool of protoplasm, bubbling in the snow.

“We won,” said the Barbarian. He sounded stunned.

“This one was weaker than the last,” said Asea with certainty.

“If that’s a weak one, I would not like to see its stronger brethren,” said Sergeant Hef.

“Sergeant, round up the men,” said Sardec. He was proud that there was no sign of the shakiness he felt in his voice. He managed to ignore the pain in his side as he walked over to Asea where she studied all that was left of the Nerghul’s corpse.

“I would not touch that hook if I were you,” she said. “It’s red hot and most likely poisoned as well.”

“Let’s hope there are not any more of those things out there,” said Sardec. “We may not be so lucky next time.”